A Complicated History
by sundroptea
Summary: The patterns in her damage have always held a strange fascination for him. Theirs is a complicated history. An iOMG spin off, three months too late.
1. A Complicated History

Title: A Complicated History

Author: sundroptea

Disclaimer: I have been a Warpedo since All That. I have never owned any part of what has now officially become his empire. One day I hope to, oh yes, I do. But I also hope that I win the lottery tomorrow. I am chockfull o'hope. Not of ownership.

Author's Note: Things I have in common with my nine year old nephew? If your answer is a fiendish delight in shows that air on the afternoons on Nickelodeon, then you are a smart, smart little cookie. This isn't a one shot. It won't be cannon, because it's branching off from iOMG, though I must say, I did very much enjoy iLost my Mind and iDate Sam and Freddie. Frankly, I'm just happy to be writing again. It's been a complicated year. I feel much better with a keyboard in front of me, and that blood sweating from the forehead type of self hatred that only comes along with my creative process. Thank you very much for reading, and I hope you'll like this. It absolutely will not be a one shot.

* * *

><p>So it starts like this:<p>

Her fingers are slim and delicate for all they sting- they're so small her knuckles leave individual bruises along his arm when she punches him. It hurts- badly- but the patterns in her damage have always held a strange fascination for him.

Theirs is a complicated history.

_She meets him for the first time in Kindergarten when she's a mid-year transfer and she's wearing a torn yellow ball gown and tinfoil boots. He's six and she's five, and that means nothing, because she doesn't take kindly to the raised eyebrow he gives her attire and shows him that by shoving him face down into the sand box, perching atop his back, and declaring him the biggest dork since… well, ever. He seethes and declares silent war on this misbegotten slip of a girl who has just sealed his fate as the class nerd for the next forever of his life. His mother asks him why, god, why is there sand in his jockey shorts and he just stomps to his chemical bath for sensitive skin and glares at his hypoallergenic rubber ducky until it quakes with fear._

She's staring at him, without actually looking at him. His mind is spiraling- sparking with the infinity before him. This was… This could… He can't seem to touch the entirety of what just happened- _is happening, something insists, the something that is completely focused on the set of her narrow shoulders and the way she's so very still_- it keeps slipping through his fingers when he tries to grasp it. He feels like maybe he's blacking out, like his consciousness is a needle skipping on a record, because he is only seeing moments, pieces. Over and over is the sense memory of her lips on his and he's flooded through with her. She tastes like chocolate, ham and cinnamon and they shouldn't come together like that. He shouldn't want more of it, certainly, he knows that.

_He's eight and Stan Bullkowski has just thrown his tofu and fruitless grape jelly sandwich in the trash for the third day straight, laughing hysterically at the undersized 3rd grader when he doesn't even say a word in protest. He can feel the other kids staring like a physical weight on his shoulders, but it doesn't bother him. Not how they think it does, anyway. Who would mourn the loss of a tofu and fruitless grape jelly sandwich? He would thank Bullkowski, if he thought that the chiz-for-brains wouldn't take it as an insult and rearrange his face._

_He's upset, and he gets that this is stupid and irrational, but he's upset because everyone thinks he should be upset. Why couldn't they see that Bullkowski meant nothing to him? Made no impact on his life, whatsoever? Freddie thanks his mother for her constant worry and fuss, because it's taught him from an early age to always look at the bigger picture. And what bigger picture would ever be painted that showed him giving half a flying fudge ball what Stanley "The Horns" Bullkowski thought about him, or organic non-grape based grape products?_

_His ears burn from anger, not humiliation and he hurries around the building not to hide from the other kids, but to make sure that he doesn't blow his top in front of everyone. He'd worked very hard to maintain an excellent rapport with the teaching staff and he didn't need anything going on his permanent record. He leans against the warm red bricks and tries to just relax and breathe evenly._

_That changes however when he watches *her* saunter around the corner. He immediately tenses. He knows Stan Bullkowski could punch the volleyball off the tetherball pole, but Freddie can outsmart him, and he isn't worth the effort to fear. Samantha Puckett, however, is a very intelligent terror and he doesn't need an astrowedgie on an empty stomach. He watches warily as she strolls to a stop in front of him, so amazingly deceptive with her cherub cheeks and the purple bow in her hair. She spits next to his feet and he cringes (THE GERMS FREDWARD, THE GERMS) but doesn't move._

"_You're so weird," she glares at him, like he's the one who followed her around the building and she's taking it as a personal attack. He doesn't know how to respond without getting punched and then pantsed so he just stares and says nothing._

"_You're standing here, scowling at me, instead of going out there and kicking some chiz! What's with that, Benson?" She pushes his shoulder roughly, and if he weren't already pressed against the wall, he'd be stumbling. His previously tenuous hold on his temper snaps and he brings up his fists as a reflex. "I don't have to explain myself to you, Puckett!"_

_She doesn't look scared but the way her eyebrow shoots up suggests that she might just be a tiny bit impressed. His mind reels. "Well, that's something. You do have a spine somewhere in there. Not much of one, mind you…"_

_He glares at her defiantly but it's all bluster because he couldn't tell you for the life of him what he's really feeling right now. He expects injury as a given, by this point, and just wants it to be over with so he can get himself back under control before the bell rings and he has to learn again. He braces for it, but keeps his eyes on her, because if she's going to hit him, he wants to see it coming._

_She feints a punch to his jaw and he flinches involuntarily, closing his eyes, wondering if his mother will take him to the emergency room at County or Washington General when she sees the bruise. Instead, he feels something soft, misshapen and lumpy thump against his forehead and bounce off. Her back is turned and she's already half-way around the corner, her curls whipping golden through the air behind her, when he realizes it's half of a ham and cheese sandwich and one square of a Hershey bar in a plastic baggie._

* * *

><p>"So, uh… Sorry," she grunts, and he can feel his heart stutter as his mind races. Is she sorry she kissed him? Sorry for surprising him? Is she sorry, like, "Oops, that was sudden!" sorry or sorry like, "I regret this so hard right now, and probably I'm going to punch you to prove it!" sorry? He knows he's been quiet a moment too long when her eyes dart up to his face and he sees something in the set of her mouth that reminds him of a leaf curling inward on itself. He can't let that happen, he knows. <em>Speak, nub! SPEAK!<em>

"It's… it's cool."

It's the world's best rejoinder. He is a _stud_. His prowess is without compare amongst his peers, and he's so goddamn good at talking to girls that he will be given multiple promotional deals to teach others his sexual ways.

This is what he tells himself, because what blood he has in his head is in his cheeks and he doesn't have a mouth where the rest of it is. He flushes redder, because he's the nub she's always told him he was, and he's still thinking about her mouth, only now it's _other places_ and he needs to stop. He really does.

She's incredibly still. Generally, it takes duct tape or processed meat product to get her to stop moving long enough to focus. Now, she's in front of him, watching him like he's about to hit her.

_She's fifteen and her hair is tangled._

_She's beating the stuffing out of a girl who seems to be part cement mixer, part moose, but all he can think about is her hair being tangled and how long it had taken him and Carly to brush it out and straighten it._

"_Ow! What are you two doing back there, and how is this- OW DAMMIT BENSON- going to help get Pete to notice me?"_

_Freddie wisely said nothing, just ducked his head a bit to dodge the cushion she threw behind her. He focused on separating the yellow-gold strands of her hair evenly, and running the circle brushes through them so that they shone._

"_Maybe if you paid a little more attention to your hygiene and a little less attention to the half yearly sale schedule at Meats-B-Here you wouldn't feel like people overlook how pretty you are," Carly had quipped, clamping down with the straightening iron determinedly, ignoring the alarmed swearing when she pulled it what Sam considered a little too close to her exposed shoulders._

_Sam had looked affronted. "You think that my respect for and admiration of the barbequed arts means I'm not girly?"_

_Freddie noticed her grip tighten on the pillow she had been trying to strangle the puff out of. He decided to intervene. He handed the next section over to Carly carefully. "No more than doing your hair makes me less manly."_

_Her snort was cut short after a warning look from Carly. It had taken fifteen minutes and both of them threatening to tell his mother he's been eating un-pre-smashed crackers before he'd finally caved in and agreed to help._

"_Alright, Fredimal, then if it's not the meat-love, what's my problem?"_

_Her tone had tried to be flip, but the question landed heavily. Carly interjected before he could think of a response._

"_The only problem you have is that you're too prone to violence. And dirt."_

_Sam tried to turn and glare at her, but a tug from Freddie's combs, and the ominous clacking from Carly snapping the straightener together kept her still._

"_Self-defense-"_

"_Only applies when someone attacks you first," Carly finished for her, taking the last bit of hair from Freddie, and started the final passes of the iron. "Parole Officer Jim has told you that a million times."_

_Freddie leaned against the vanity and watched as Sam fidgeted, irritably._

"_So I pre-empted a few of the stupider steps in the dance! Parole Officer Jim is just shortsighted." Her shoulders hunched._

_Carly fluffed Sam's hair one last time, and spun the chair around so she could look in the mirror. "Ta-da! Girl!Sam makes her triumphant appearance!"_

_Freddie felt something weird rumble through his stomach. If his mother was right about the un-pre-smashed crackers giving him ulcers he would never hear the end of it. Sam's mouth opened… closed._

"_It's… different," she managed. Her head turned slightly to study it from the side. Her hair was longer straight, he'd thought._

"_You don't like it!" Carly's lips turned down and she reached for the wet towel to wrap Sam's head up again. Freddie found he couldn't hide a smile, but then Sam's hand shot out and stopped Carly._

"_It's not that, it's just- What're you smirking at, nub?"_

"_Nothing!" He shook his head in denial. She got up from the chair and was practically nose to nose with him. He wondered when that stopped being scary. He could look past the terror and threat of immediate injury to notice other things. Like how tight the skin around her eyes looked this close. Almost as if she were nervous. Funny._

"_Sam!"_

"_Seriously, chizbreath, what's so funny?" she glared and her hands were fists._

"_Sam, nothing! There was nothing funny!"_

"_He didn't do anything! Your hair looks great! __** Remember Parole Officer Jim!**__" Carly yelped, as she tried to diffuse things._

"_He's going to say something I need to punch him for eventually. Why not speed things up?" she menaced._

"_Fine! Fine, okay? I was thinking that the straight hair makes you look kind of tame! That's it! It's not bad. It's just, I'm used to your curls bouncing everywhere, and I-"_

"_Tame?" she breathed. He'd recognized *just* how poorly he phrased that *way* too late. "TAME?"_

_He shook his head, and his arms shot out to… do something. He would have grabbed her wrists, but she would destroy Carly's vanity if she flipped him over now, and for all Spencer was a giant four year old, he got surprisingly grown up and twitchy about replacing furniture. Instead, his hands had just hovered awkwardly in the air on either side of her, palms up defensively. She poked a vicious finger into his chest, and he was discomfited by how different it looked with pale pink polish daintily coating it. He'd just gotten so used to being assaulted by electric lime green digits, or purple and black, bruised looking splatters of color against his shirt, or skin if she aimed for the arm._

"_Not tame, like… however you're taking it! Tame like…"_

_Carly interjected, "Let's stay away from the concept of tame entirely, shall we? My carpet is so entirely blood free right now, and I'm super happy with that continuing to be the case!"_

"_I just… I don't think there was anything wrong with the way you looked before! I know it's just probably because I'm used to it, but I think the curls are more you! And I like them! But hey, this is nice too! Just… different. Flatter, but different!"_

_He'd winced a little because she was still in his breathing square, which didn't bode well for him. He waited patiently, knowing that sudden movements were unlikely to help his cause, prepared for the punch he was sure was coming. Instead long blonde straight strands of hair whipped him in the face as she thrust the brushes back into his hands and turned around._

"_No one asked you for your opinion, chizhead. Just keep brushing. Mama wants her hair to *gleam.*"_

_His jaw had dropped open, not believing his luck as she'd dropped back into the chair. The slight hunch of her shoulders made him decide to push it._

"_Well, you technically did ask me-"_

"_Shut up, Benson!" they'd chorused, and it was all suddenly friendly squabbles again._

* * *

><p>He wants to break the silence, but in that way that great cats go still before they rip their prey apart, he can sense that one wrong move here will finish him. He imagines Sam's hand reaching out, her fingers claws that gleam in the reflected half light of the courtyard. In his mind she aims straight for his heart, hooking it, then running with it into the darkness while he lies gasping out his last breaths. She always did know just where to strike to cause the most damage.<p>

_They're sixteen, and it's becoming obvious that life isn't staying still, but it also isn't changing in the ways he expected it to._

_He's sitting in the park across the street from Bushwell, and his bad leg is propped up along half a bench, and he's just thankful for the sun splashing across his face, because if his mother had her way, he'd be enjoying twelfth period at the home school she's been campaigning for since the taco truck tossed his guacamole._

_He lets his mind float freely, not thinking about anything, not dwelling on anything, and certainly not berating himself for letting the girl of his dreams slip through his fingers. Well, maybe a little of that last bit._

_He can't sort out his emotions. He gets nauseous when he tries to focus on any one in particular. He remembers clearly how elated he was, walking through the school with Carly (Carly *Shay*) on his arm, just the way he'd always pictured it. Or, almost the way he'd pictured it. He berated himself for waffling. Him and Carly together was perfect. It was the dream! It was the goal! And he hadn't even had to make anything look like an accident, let alone involve her first husband!_

_And yet, even before the… he'll use intervention, because for once, he really thought that Sam might have had someone else's best interest at heart- even before the intervention, he couldn't deny that something had maybe felt slightly… off. Hollow? It took Sam and her ridiculous meat based wisdom to put it into context for him, and gods above did it chafe that she was the voice of reason in this scenario. The world had surely gone mad._

_He's angry at himself, he knows that much. He took advantage of the situation, even if that's not what he thought he was doing at the time. And his mother drilled into his head from birth (possibly the womb? He knows she played safety instructions through headphones on her belly when she was pregnant.) "Always a gentleman, never in trouble with God or the law." It wasn't one of her pithiest codas, but it doesn't make it less applicable. Carly was feeling guilty, and vulnerable, and he'd just swooped right in like a giant, nerdy swooping thing. And all the time he'd thought she'd just seen the light. Seen his leg snap into three pieces and the overwhelming pathetic-ness that was his life , more like._

_He is grumbling to himself, slouched over onto his arm ("Boys who sit up straight find their lives are great!") eyes closed, and wondering what he's going to do, now that the possibility of Carly has been ripped away and he's left only with the reality that it hadn't worked out. He's surprised by how nervous he's making him. He's a little ashamed at how much of his foundation is built around the basic tenant of "Freddie Love Carly! Freddie Love Carly Real Good!"_

_What's the future going to be like without the hope that someday, maybe…?_

_This is the spiral he's in when she walks up. He's clearly not at his most alert, and since his mother is at work, he's not expecting anyone to disturb his moping- musings! Musings, he means._

_That, of course, is the first indication that he should have seen it coming. Expect Sam Puckett when you least expect Sam Puckett. Words to live by, and always more useful than any rhyme his mother has yet to couplet._

_He yelps when she thumps down onto the bench behind him, jostling the slats enough that a spasm of pain wracks his leg. He whips his head around to look at her, but only to glare. He'd known it was her from the smell of Pig-B-Qued special sauce that wafted over him as his eyes teared up._

"_Sorry, Fredinor," she says, and for some reason he believes her._

"_Whatever." He adjusts his position so that he can look at her comfortably, but he keeps his gaze on the trees in the distance. "Here to gloat?"_

_Sam folds her hands behind her head, and avoids his eyes as well. For once, there's no malice on her face and none of the glee he anticipates. "Gloat?"_

_He crosses his arms. "So you're going to make me say it?"_

_Sam finally flicks her eyes at him. "I'm not going to make you do anything. Not at the moment, anyway." Her blue eyes are cool, and almost placid. He wonders what that expression she has on means. It fits ill over her features. On anyone else he'd call it sympathy, but that was impossible, right? He notes that he is still feeling sore on the subject of her being the messenger who delivered the note from Captain Truth. He tries not to take his bitterness out on her. His success rate is variable, over the years._

"_Oh? You're not going to say 'I told you so'?" he snipes. It is not one of his successful moments._

_Her eyebrow rises. "Do I need to?"_

_He acknowledges the hit._

"_I was just so sure!" He bursts out, unable to help himself. He is mortified, because this is Sam and if you're going to display weakness around her, you might as well just bow down and offer her your neck like animals do in the jungle. "I thought that this was it, this was my reward for years of dogged persistence-"_

"_Persistence? That's a fun new word for stalking."_

"_We were going to be forever," he deflates, redefining pathetic in his opinion. Sam's lip curls and he's surprised, because there was that malice he'd been looking for earlier, but it's gone almost as soon as it appears. The strange look from earlier comes back. She looks almost rueful._

"_Look, nub. No one meets the person they're gonna be with forever in high school. No one. Hell, there's almost no forever left in this world." It's as close to comforting as Sam Puckett will ever get on this subject._

"_My mom did!" he counters, wondering why he's arguing this. He also wonders why she looks so out of sorts._

"_And look how that turned out!" she zings, before going still, understanding that perhaps she just crossed a line. Freddie's dad's untimely passing was something no one in the trio spoke about, ever, in group or in part. It was just one of the rules. (Rules like: Sam hates Freddie. Freddie loves Carly. Spencer sets things on fire.) "Dude, I'm-"_

"_Isn't it better that she knew him? That she had him for a little while?" He isn't mad. It's sort of freeing, in that moment. So many rules were already broken today (a siren wailed furiously as a fire engine roared up to Bushwell Plaza's front entrance- not all of them apparently) what's one more? Sam's quiet is sullen, and her foot is tapping like she's ready to bolt._

"_What's the point if it isn't forever?" she asks. It's probably the most serious tone he's ever heard her use. He shifts so they're side by side. He's too close to her, but his leg hurts and he's finally comfortable. If she wants to move she can. She doesn't seem to, but her gaze is firmly locked on the blue parts of the sky above them so maybe she hasn't noticed._

"_How will you know it's not forever if you don't try?" he counters, watching her play intricate threading games with her fingers. For the first time since he'd turned Carly away, he felt the gnaw of dismay and uncertainty in his stomach lessen. He doesn't question it, just happy there's a light in the distance somewhere. Maybe he won't always feel like his world is over. Maybe. He's willing to entertain the possibility._

_As his burden eases hers seems to increase, if the agitated twitching of her limbs is anything to go by. Her lips quirk up into a smirk, nonetheless, and that sends his stomach into a new fit of dismay._

"_How's that trying thing been working out for you, Fredly-Do-Right? You were sitting here alone on this bench thinking about how cool it is to have loved and lost, and all that chiz? Sorry to interrupt your happy time, nerd."_

"_Oh, Sam," he sighs, shaking his head. She jumps up, arms flung out, almost defensively._

"_Well, it's true. God, why are we even talking about this? And why am I even talking to you? Just because Carly finally came to her senses it doesn't mean we're going to be besties to fill the voi-"_

"_Thank you", he interrupts. She gapes at him, sincerely caught off guard, for once. He smiles at her, and she immediately goes into lockdown mode, expecting a trick. It makes him grin wider._

"_What for? What'd you do? What's this?" Her eyes dart back and forth as though expecting the police, or an attacking hoard or Miss Briggs. He reaches out and tugs a curl, abandoning caution and normalcy completely._

"_For setting me straight. Me and Carly weren't in it for the right reasons, and I knew it, deep down, but I was too chicken to admit it. You kicked me in the pants, and it was the right thing to do. So thank you, Sam. You were a good friend."_

_Her cheeks are red, and he would think it was a blush, but Pucketts don't blush (another rule). She punches him, hard, in the leg, but it's his good leg, and he's grateful for that, and he thinks maybe he gets what she means by it._

* * *

><p>She beats him to it, as usual.<p>

"Welp. This was a mistake. See you around, nub." She doesn't bother with the door, and is half way over the wall when he finds his voice.

"Sam, wait!"

She pauses, perched precariously atop the cement divider, one trainer hanging down, crouched forward, every inch the picture of goodbye. She keeps her face turned away.

"Waiting is for losers. You wait." And then she's gone.

He wonders if he should lay down and twitch. He was right; she's fled away in the night and he feels like his chest is shred to ribbons. He rubs it absentmindedly, wondering what he should do. Experimentally, he tries to scale the wall as he'd seen her do. Halfway up, he's right back down with a thud and now Sam is a literal pain in his ass and he gets angry.

She always runs away.

_They're almost sixteen, and he sees her out of the corner of his eye._

_He's dancing with Carly and for once he feels like he's completely at peace. He's not struggling in that instant to force any feelings from her, content to just let the moment be, happy just to be friends with one normal, lovely person. He wonders if that means he's growing up, and then wonders if it's just the relief that comes from knowing that the girl he's with is not going to make anything he's attached to disappear- his phone, his eyebrows, his arm…_

_He has the errant thought that, "Hey at least I beat out Captain Interruptus for company. Score."_

_He only notices her once she's turned away, the neon from the Groovy part of 'Groovy Smoothie' reflecting luridly off her blonde hair. He waits for her to come back and she doesn't. She looks back though, once, and what he sees there makes him stumble. He lets go of Carly reflexively, and moves to go after Sam, and later he wonders where the hell that impulse came from. (He tries to ask his mother, obliquely, but she misinterprets it entirely and it leads to his sixth full body scan, and a warning from the doctor about radiation poisoning.)_

_She sees him move and then she's nothing more than dust and an afterimage. They don't talk about it, ever. She levels him with a look at iCarly rehearsal the next day, and when he opens his mouth she pelts him in the face with the handful of assorted change they're using for the "Gibby Bank" sketch. A quarter lands in his mouth and he swallows it reflexively. As he's coughing in horror and disgust, he knows she has every intention of pretending that the moment never happened, and that's another thing she always does._


	2. A Complicated Present

A Complicated History

Author: sundroptea

Rated: I always try for T but it's probably going to stay PG. (I also think K+ is a stupid ass rating. It's for the slightly more positive K audience? Dumb.) I have a slightly more slutty plot bunny partway started for Sam and Freddie though, so give me my delusions while I have them, please. It stays T.

Disclaimer: Hahahahaha! Oh, I'm sorry. I was just laughing heartily at the clever way I've decided to phrase the obvious fact that I don't own any part of iCarly. But I guess it's moot now?

Author's Note: So, A) I was determined not to post this until next week. Partly because as of this morning I only had the first paragraph and partly because I really would like to move away from the one shots into long tales. B) I failed at this because it's just such great place to stop for the moment. This makes me nervous because I actually work a day shift for once tomorrow and surely will have actual work to do at some point, so it's going to be longer, I suspect, for chapter three. C) I had so much fun with this chapter, which is weird because my favorite person in this is someone I usually can't get a grasp on, stylistically. D) Thank you to everyone who's reading this story, and those who reviewed. It's my first time in this fandom and I am really enjoying it!

***A Complicated Present***

He has his phone out and he's texting her immediately because his call is going to voice mail and he knows it's because she's hitting ignore. No one's phone cuts you off automatically at one and a half rings. One half of his brain is gibbering in a riotous blend of shock, rage and the predominant chant of "_Got to fix this- Gotta fix this- Gotta fix it- Crap- Sam- Gotta- Gotta- find Sam- fix- find- Gotta fix- SamSamSamSam."_ The other half is wracking whatever grey matter is left over to figure out where she could be. He guesses she probably ditched out on the rest of the lock in (_Ask Gibby if he knows how to pick locks_, he tells himself distractedly) and that she probably wouldn't go back to Carly's because that would be too many questions, but he knows she wouldn't go home because her mother's date tonight is with a librarian and she wouldn't be caught dead socializing with someone who works near books for a living. Also on her shitlist are Farmes and Royle's employees, and mapmakers.

He runs into Carly in the hallway forehead first, because he's still texting (_**where are u? sam! talk 2 me! sam!) **_and he doesn't see her.

"Ow."

Freddie kind of nods at her, but he's still walking and she's forced to fall into step next to him. He's moving with the desperation borne of those worried that they've massively erred and he's wondering how she's managing to keep up. He imagines years as Spencer's sister have kept her scurry muscles fairly sharp. "Look, Carly, now's really not the best of ti-"

"I'm surprised you can still talk. That lip lock looked intense. I'm glad you didn't strain anything." He double takes, which makes him trip and he notes idly that Carly should give up comedy and go into private investigation, because there is not much that gets past her.

"Carly," he warns, fingers still clicking away (_**I know you're getting these. Answer the phone! Sam!**_) his grammar reaching more heartily towards perfection the more agitated his mind becomes.

"What?" She's the picture of innocence. "Oh, I'm sorry. Are you busy? You look busy. Your lips certainly looked busy when they were plastered all over my best friend's face!"

"She kissed me!" They had made it to the front doors. He tugs the lock to no avail. _SamSamSam- Find her- _"Where's Gibby?"

"Why? You gonna plant one on him too? Eww… Gibby lips!"

"Carly! This isn't funny!" Boiling point reached and breached, he smacks the door, frustrated, aggravated and starting to worry that he isn't going to find Sam before the damage from this night became irreversible. Carly jumps, startled, and her eyes narrow for a moment, before she manages to regain the aloof air she'd been keeping since he nearly mowed her over. "I screwed this up! I didn't say anything! I just stood there!"

Carly redefines the word irritating with the slow, mocking tapping of her foot. "Let me get this straight. Sam- _our Sam- _wait, scratch that, _my _Sam, because I'm not sure if all three of us are going to be friends tomorrow morning, and I'm totally claiming her first if this all blows up-"

"If?" he snarked, crossing his arms over his chest, realizing that the frantic jiggling was doing nothing to the lock but was fraying his nerves ridiculously. (_**Sam, just tell me where you are! Sam!**_)

"ANYWAY. _My _Sam kissed you and you just stood there. Even though you KNOW she's in love with Brad."

He spins on his heel, and starts walking away. He will find Gibby. Gibby will either pick the lock, or Freddie will use Gibby as a human battering ram but _come hell or highwater he is getting out of this school and finding Sam who is not in love with __**stupid Brad**_.

"You enticed her to kiss you!" Carly didn't seem to notice he was trying to flee her, or else, she severely didn't care. She trailed him, her voice accusing, and grating on the last fraying strand that was tethering his patience. "You dirty kiss enticer, you! You hate Sam that much? You would get in the way of what is going to be the first healthy relationship she'll have ever had? She and Brad would-"

He rounds on her, hands clenched. Her eyebrows shoot up and she works very hard to control her face. "SHE DOESN'T LOVE THAT… THAT NUB! CARLY, QUIT! I DIDN'T ENTICE ANYTHING AND I HAVE TO FIND SAM BEFORE I LOSE- BEFORE THIS GETS EVEN MORE OUT OF HAND!"

Carly perches her fist on her cocked hip. "Brad isn't a nub. Brad is great! You know Brad! Brad of the fudge? We love Brad! _Sam _loves Brad!"

Freddie prides himself on his self-restraint. But now he growls. At Carly? Near Carly? Either way, it's a very primitive and not at all like him. He has an idea. Emergency exits! He takes off down the hall. They couldn't lock the emergency exits. That would be a lawsuit! If there were a fire or flood or earthquake or possibly a volcano/ lava situation they would be castigated! This is great!

He decides on the one that's next to the auditorium. It's probably the least defended, and he imagines there's going to be an alarm. He breaks into a cold sweat. Alright, illegal. This is good; these are points that will work well when he finds Sam. Sam likes things that have the potential to destroy his future. He's momentarily confused. Is that still true? He shakes it off. Tongue in his mouth or not, she's still Sam. _Mmm. Tongue… _(_**At least tell me where you are!**_)

Carly continues trailing him, seemingly unhurried, though he's taking the turns at somewhat of a clip. "Where are you going?"

"To find Sam!" he replies. He hears a teacher, and ducks into the dark of an empty classroom, crouching behind the desk. Carly strolls in behind him, flips on the lights and perches daintily atop the same desk.

"What are you doing?" he hisses. She rolls her eyes at him, and waves as Mr. Morris walks by, deep in conversation with Ms. Sylvester.

"Sam's right. You are kind of a chizstick sometimes." She hops off the desk and comes around to face him. "Haven't you learned anything from her? Never look suspicious, especially if you're being suspicious."

He reaches up to his forehead to rub his temple, half convinced his hand will come away bloody because surely the throbbing vein up there has popped by now. "Thanks for the tip."

"Here's another one: don't screw around with Sam." Her face is hard, and he feels indignant.

"Me?"

"Yes, you. Just because she's all tough and 'Imma-eat-this-cow-and-then-I'm-gonna-beat-you-up' on the outside, people forget that she's still a person. I don't know how, "Let's help her be with Brad" turned into "Let me put my saliva all up on her face" but if this is some sort of practical joke, I will help her with whatever revenge she decides to enact. And you have had some first hand experience tonight with just how devious I can be. Pair that in your boy mind with Sam's natural-born inclination toward violence and mayhem and paint yourself a picture." She says all this very mildly, but her arms are crossed and her eyes are stern. His mouth falls open.

"I- you- I… She kissed me!"

"Yeah, so you've said, Senor Smoochypants." Her eye roll indicates what she thinks of this assertion.

"She did! Carly, I went out there to talk to her, because she looked sad, and I didn't want her to miss out on something she wanted because she was too scared to go for it. Even though I wasn't thrilled with the thought of her and- well, look that's not important."

"Oh, it isn't?"

"No! The point is I went out there and suddenly she's like, right there, and her lips are just… and I was… and I said, 'It's cool!' and I was feeling so proud of getting that out and then she was all, 'Loser!' and I'm like 'Sam!' and then she wasn't there, and wait a minute how did you know about the kiss anyway?"

"I saw. I was spying. It's something I do."

"That's an invasion of our privacy!"

"You two have privacy? You share it? Together you have shared privacy?"

"Oh my god."

"Look, Freddie. I'm your friend. I'm her friend. I look out for my friends. That's why I'm asking you right now- are you going to jerk her around? Because she doesn't deserve that. Not really."

He collapses back against the whiteboard. The hour must be catching up with him, because he's suddenly completely drained. "No. I'm not. I'm worried about this. I'm worried that this is going to ruin our friendship, and iCarly and everything. I just want to fix things."

She cocks her head. "Fix things how?"

He's tried, up until now, to avoid thinking about the how. He was mostly consumed with methodology- escaping the lock in, finding Sam, getting away from Carly and her damned knowing air. He's not into details at the moment, but if he were, he would also have to admit that he's been replaying the feel of her body against his almost on loop. But details are dangerous and he's trying to avoid those. Abstract thinking- that's the new thing for cool kids. He knocks his head back against the shiny white surface. "I don't know."

"Well, what's your plan?"

He shrugs helplessly. "Find her? I'm thinking maybe… talk?"

"Yes, because talking went so well between you two before. Are you going to kiss her?"

"Carly!"

"It's a legitimate question! Is this it? Are you two finally going to find a new way to interact with each other that doesn't involve insults and violence?"

"Are you saying you support this?"

"I'm not saying anything." She looks up at the ceiling, that innocent look from earlier present and accounted for. "All I'm saying is that you should think VERY carefully about what that PearPad told you earlier. And you should think about Sam. And you should think about what I'm going to do to you if I find out that you've used Sam, or lied to her. Because what I'm going to do is probably what Sam would do. She's even written me a list of ways to hurt people, in case she's not around to do it for me. I will probably need to dig that up."

He nods. "I swear, Carls, I just want to make things better. I can't stand the thought of leaving things like this."

"And why is that?"

"C'mon! What do you mean?"

"You've fought with her before. Heck, you two have even done the pucker-up polka before! Is it really that big a deal?"

"A big deal? OF COURSE IT IS! Carly, she doesn't just kiss people out of nowhere! Especially nubs like me! This is huge! I think… I think Sam loves me!" His throat closed, and breathing was abruptly a very pressing issue. "Samantha Puckett is in love with me!"

Carly raises her arms in victory. "Touchdown! Give the boy a prize."

He looks at her blankly, eyes glazed with terror. "Oh my god. What do I do? Sam… Sam loves… Oh… oh my god, what do I do? She loves me. She loves me! She loves _me_? How? Why? Holy mother of all things sanitary… what do I do?"

"How should I know? What am I, the oracle of all things Sam and Freddie?"

He rubs his sweaty palms against his jean-clad knees and stares at her. He looks like he's just been bombed out of his foxhole. It's… pathetic, at best.

"Well, do you like her?"

"Of course! She's my friend, even if she's too stubborn to admit it." He looks haunted again. "Will she admit it now? Is she Sam if she admits it? What if things change? What if it destroys all of us? What if I make the wrong move and we all die?"

"Dramatic."

"You aren't being helpful!" he scolds, and she takes pity on him.

"Look, Freddo, let's just assume for the moment that there isn't life and death on the line. I'm not saying it isn't because, again, she'll probably kill you if you mess with her, but let's assume. Are you seriously considering getting involved with Samantha Puckett?"

He blinks at her. "What?"

"I mean really, think this through. It's SAM."

Something niggles at the edge of his awareness- a red sort of haze that rolls slowly across his mind. "What do you mean?"

"We're talking about Sam here."

"What's wrong with Sam?"

"Nothing. Except that she's rude-"

"Not… always…"

"Loud-"

"She's got some lungs on her, yeah."

"Bossy-"

"She's opinionated, and she gets tons of ideas."

"Lazy-"

"Only when it's something boring or stupid or strenuous…"

"Violent, dirty, carnivorous, antagonistic, rebellious, thoughtless, heartless-"

The haze solidifies into a solid red mass as Carly ticks off the characteristics on her fingers. He doesn't see her lips twitch as he begins to pace.

"Hey! Sam is smart, and she's brave, and she's incredibly loyal to those she cares about! Sure she's got some rough edges, but you're making her out to be some sort of monster! Violence is just her way of… relating to people. She's been pulling her punches with me for years! It's been ages even since I've sprained anything! Yes, her ability to consume vast quantities of meat and meat-related by-products is sometimes horrifying to behold, but it's just one of the things that makes her Sam! I personally find it somewhat endearing, especially the way her eyes light up when she sees that bag of fresh, crisp bacon in the mornings. And she isn't dirty! She always smells like vanilla and bar-b-que sauce!"

"Oh, Freddie."

"And, yes, alright, I admit that she can be a bit careless but she would walk over hot coals for either of us! I'm ashamed of you, Carly! How could you talk about her like that?"

"Only to prove a point! You would never go out with someone like Sam! You and her?"

"What's that supposed to mean? What's wrong with me and her? She always keeps things interesting and I mellow out her less savory qualities and I think we would be an amazing couple and I-" That's when he notices the twinkle in her eye, the cheek-splitting grin on her face… what he just said catches up with him.

She claps.

"Yay!"


	3. A Complicated Future

Title: A Complicated History

Author: sundroptea

Rating: T

Disclaimer: If I owned this I would be rich, happy and on supremely intimate terms with both Keenan _and _Kel. That show might not even have ended. Legit. I would watch them into their geriatric years.

Author's Note: Yeah, yeah, it took a minute. Shut up. But it's difficult to write when I'm so displeased with the show. Break them up if you want, but jesus, at least give them a good reason. They have tons of shit in common- like, fer realz yo. Anyway. Please enjoy and thank you SO FUDGING MUCH AND A HALF for reading.

* * *

><p>"Hey?" A voice is hesitant from the doorway and both Carly and Freddie turn to face it. One of them is still grinning stupidly, and one of them is obviously trying not to swallow his own tongue, so Brad is understandably wary. This group of iCarlys had the random happenstance drama thing down to an art form. He realizes that it's not a dynamic he's going to pick up right away, and it's a little intimidating to him. "Um, the Gibby? He wanted me to find Carly and tell her that Spencer has taken off his pants and is rocking back and forth in the corner, whimpering."<p>

Carly's eyes light up. "Oh good! Stage three! And it's only 11:45!" She turns to Freddie and her mind is clearly elsewhere. "I've got to get back! It's almost time for the bees."

She's halfway out the door before she stops and turns back to him. "Go get 'em, kid. You gotta want it! You gotta work! You gotta… find her. I would guess she'd be at my house, since we're not there. Also, she asked to borrow my key earlier." To Brad she says, "Did Gibby say if he had the fire hose ready to go? No matter!"

With that twisted, Family Shay version of a pep talk, she is gone.

Freddie decides he needs a moment to regroup. He sinks to the floor in a puddle of still stunned limbs and basically turns his mind off completely as he gives in to his panic. He's about to try to pursue a relationship – _a romantic relationship_- with Samantha Puckett. He wonders how many man points he'll need to pull this off and how many he'll lose if he outright faints right now. He's guessing several to both. He imagines several scenarios, his favorite of which involve her tongue against his again, his least favorite circling around somehow ruining their friendship, and his most realistic involving pain and public humiliation. He doesn't know how he's going to pull this off. This isn't in his repertoire. He's the go to nerd guy for friendly, frenemy banter. He's not suave. He doesn't get the girl. The last three dates he'd been on he'd been wearing fake vampire fangs, for jank's sake. What in that was going to prepare him to launch a romantic offensive on Samantha "Stonewall" Puckett? Maybe he could just sink the fake fangs into the back of her neck like lions do? Just sort of clamp on until she stops scratching?

He's losing it.

"Hey, man. You ok?"

Freddie startles. He'd honestly forgotten Brad was there. New kid skulked well. Sam would like that. Potentially criminal skills always earned points with her. He is suddenly, violently, and involuntarily reminded that this boy had been locked into a darkened room with Sam earlier this evening. His stomach lurches oddly, and he wonders if it's possible that he's getting ill. He hasn't taken an antibacterial shower in weeks, forgoing them in favor of normal showers that don't burn his skin or make him smell like a freshly scrubbed floor. Maybe that needs to change? ('_Infectious diseases grow in spurts; that's why we scrub and scrub 'til it hurts!')_

"Freddie?"

He blinks. God, does that kid have an invisibility cloak or something?

"What?"

"Are… you maybe going to come back and work on the project?" Brad is hesitant. He senses something disquieting in the air. It's making him nervous, and it's also tempting him to transfer back to his old school. People made sense there. No one sat alone in darkish classrooms staring blankly at the wall. People didn't forget about his existence from week to week, and now, apparently minute to minute. But for the moment he's here and his zen master says to always be present in your daily life. "We do still have some tweaking to do and now that Sam's gone-"

Freddie's on his feet. "You saw her? When'd you see her? How'd she look? Was she upset? Was she angry? What happened?"

Brad backs up. "Whoa."

"Seriously! This is important! What'd she look like?" Freddie is aware that he is now violating what most would refer to as Brad's 'comfort square.' He doesn't care, and keeps advancing, literally cornering poor Brad who is already mentally signing his transfer papers back to Palos Verde.

His response is perhaps a reflection of the desperation suddenly coursing through him.

"What? I don't know what you mean! She looked like Sam!"

"Brad!"

"Just.. Sam! You know? Sam! Blonde hair, blue eyes, yea big, great chest, nice as- hurk!"

Both Freddie and Brad are surprised to learn that 'hurk!' is the noise your throat makes when your air supply is cut off mid-sentence by a forearm being shoved against your trachea. Never let it be said that Ridgeway High's lock-ins are not educational.

"And we're going to try that question again," Freddie says very gently. "But this time more carefully, I think." He relaxes the arm against his friend's(?) windpipe and steps back.

"How did she look _emotionally_, Brad? Although since you seem to have been extremely busy noticing other parts of her, I can understand if perhaps you missed anything that might have happened on _her face._"

Brad is sorry. He's sorry that those ungentlemanly words came out because even though he's a teenager and thinks those things sometimes (and let's be honest, _she is built like a brick chizhouse_) he tries never to be _that_ guy and he's sorry that he's damaged Freddie's good opinion of him (because he likes his new friends for the most part and his mom is never going to let him move back in with his dad, not really) and mostly he's sorry that he ever agreed to be the Gibby's errand boy and that he didn't just stay and finish their own project by himself.

He really looks at Freddie for the first time that night- takes in everything from the hectic color in his face, to the bulging in his temple, to the ticking of his jaw and suddenly has the weirdest feeling that perhaps he's missing something huge. Something specifically relating to Samantha (he flinches because he called her that accidentally the other day and he still has the bruise to remember it) and Freddie, the boy who slapped a chip she'd given him out of his hand in suspicion not three hours earlier.

His eyes widen.

"No way!"

Now it's Freddie's turn to look cornered. "What?" he begins but is, for once, saved by the Gibby.

"Uh, you two seen Carly?"

"Yeah, man, she was just here. She left to go help you with the project. She said something about bees?" Brad shuffles. He wonders if acknowledging the experiment will mean he's culpable if the authorities get involved. At his old school, no one was allowed to deliver electric shocks to people. Not even the school nurse!

Gibby nods, looking relieved. "That's great. That's what I wanted to hear. He didn't respond well to the lizards at all- at _all_. I think hearing her will calm him down." He begins to leave.

"I think Freddie has a crush on Sam!" Even Brad is surprised by his blurted outburst, and everyone can tell because he immediately claps his hands over his mouth like a three year old, and gasps.

Gibby turns back, slowly, one eyebrow raised in Gibbyish disbelief. "Nah, man."

Freddie is red, and not meeting his eyes though, which suggests perhaps that… "Nah!"

"Oh god, Gib, please…"

"WAIT YOU MEAN IT'S TRUE?" Gibby's hands immediately go to the hem of his shirt. He's been much better about it lately, but volatile emotions just sometimes cannot be contained in cotton/poly blends! He hesitates there, hanging suspended in the moment- that delicious space just before change brings about the free fall.

Brad rounds on Freddie, too. "Well, why did you shut me in with her earlier if you're all up on her chiz?"

Freddie, once again, does not like this reminder. "Carly! Alright? Carly said that it would be good for Sam, make her happy! So I did it! What was I supposed to do? MoodFace said she was in love! I NEVER EVEN THOUGHT I'D BE IN THE RUNNING. So I helped Carly Shay, even though I told her to STAY OUT OF IT and if I hear you so much as _sniffed_ her _hair_ I'm going to-" He jumps to his feet, and it's only Gibby in his way that is stopping him from doing something rash.

"Whoa, dude. Chillax."

"_Chillax_? That's your advice?"

Gibby realizes it's time to lay down some wisdom. He doesn't do it often, and up until this point in his life, he's never done it fully clothed, but hey, they're all growing up, in their own ways.

"No, my advice is this: Don't screw this up. This could be a good thing for both of you. I don't understand how the three of you constantly manage to fail at relationships. Tasha and I have been going strong for almost three years. It's not hard. It's hard work, but it's not rocket science. The main hurdle is just to find someone worth putting in the effort. And if you are going to sit there and tell me that Sam isn't worth the effort, then you'd better be sure. Because I know her, and there aren't any second chances there."

Brad is confused and frightened. He wonders if Spencer will trade places with him. He would rather be in a crazy box alone than in this room with all these… feelings and questions. Also, the Gibby seems to be making a startling amount of sense and that's just… that's just not right. He looks at the other boy in disbelief.

Freddie, too, is taken aback. He stares up at Gibby with something akin to reverence. Gibby isn't fazed. He's different. Deal with it.

"So what do I do now?"

Gibby shrugs. "Have you talked to her?"

"Well… You see… I was going to! …But I got sidetracked."

"By what?"

Freddie thinks. "Carly? And then, panic?"

Gibby shakes his head. "Rookie mistake."

"Alright. Okay. I can do this. I just have to find her, and then I have to talk to her, and see where this is going. I should probably apologize, too, right?"

"For what?"

Freddie seems to be somewhere else as he answers. "So, when she kissed me it kind of stun-"

"SHE KISSED YOU?" Now it's Freddie that they're staring at in disbelief. Freddie snaps back to reality, and nods, feeling guilty for reasons he can't explain. "What did you say?"

"Say? I… That's kind of why I need to apologize."

Gibby throws up his hands. "It's clear I've taught you nothing!"

"Yeah, man. You gotta say _something._" Brad is appalled.

Freddie is defensive because he's getting raked over the coals about his, admittedly limited, kissing finesse by New Kid and Weird Kid respectively.

"I don't know what you could have done better in my place! It was an ambush!"

"Even the Texans managed remember the Alamo. And they had kind of a lot going on."

"Thank you. Thank you both. We're all friends."

His life hits a bizarre new low when Gibby – _Gibby_ – rolls his eyes at him.

"Don't sulk. You've got to go talk to Sam." Gibby takes him by the shoulders and leads him to the door.

Freddie nods, resolute. He whips out his PearPhone and resumes his text barrage.

"And remember, even after she rips off your dingle doodles, we'll still be bros."

Freddie's mouth drops open and he tries to look back over his shoulder at Gibby, who's still pushing him.

"BROS!" Brad chimes in, helpfully.

* * *

><p><em>Won't you at least let me in?<em> He texts, without much hope.

He's been ducked around the corner of Carly's apartment for almost thirty minutes now, and his vision is _swimming _he's so tired. All the adrenaline from sneaking into his apartment without alerting his mother (_And let's give him some credit, the woman has a strategically organized series of bells and cans scattered across every room that she employs on nights when he isn't home. The fact that he made it into his own kitchen for the spare key and back without the police barging in and arresting him for suspected creepery speaks __**volumes**__ to his manhood.) _has long since worn off leaving him drained and agitated. He'd known once he slid the key into the Shay's lock and pushed, and found that the door was barricaded from the inside that this was probably going to be even more difficult than he'd anticipated. All of his plans had (somewhat naively, he sees now) at least involved him managing to be physically present in the same room as her. He realizes that he was jumping the gun in contemplating fallout and fancy speeches. It is apparent that he is unlikely to even get an audience with her royal majesty Queen Pain-in-the-Ass. He's struck again by how unfair she's being. Yes, he took a minute to think before he responded to his sometime arch-enemy, long-term best friend rubbing her incredibly soft lips all across his face. He knows he probably should have grabbed her in a chokehold or something if he didn't want her to bolt. But seriously, he was stunned, and he's trying to make it right here!

If he ranked the top ten worst things she's ever done to him (_The whole 'never been kissed' debacle is on there but she made up for that… boy, did she ever._) what he's done to her this evening doesn't compare _because he's trying to fix it dammit_.

The sudden upsurge of anger gives him new life. Or at least, that's what he decides the broken feeling of unsteady determination is. He types one last message furiously into his PearPhone and presses save, without giving any more thought to what he's about to do. The time has come for action! And at three in the morning, he's just the man to do it.

That, at least, gets us to where he's perched on a damnable sliver of concrete the city of Seattle had deemed fit to allow Bushwell Plaza call a ledge, eight stories up, inching his way around the building until he comes face to glass with the Shay's odd, odd multi-colored monkeys.

He sees Sam in the living room, slumped over on the couch. He can't tell, because he's behind her and, you know, outside, but he thinks she might be cradling her head in her hands. His heart flips over a little, but his precarious position is starting to dawn on him, now that his burst of idiot courage has fled him, and he's becoming slightly frightened that he's made a terrible mistake. The wind picks up, seemingly in confirmation, and he hopes that she's reading his text messages before ignoring them, because if not he's probably going to die and then no one will get any closure, except the medical examiner zipping his body bag shut.

He retrieves the saved message with one shaking thumb, and presses Send.

He watches as her phone lights up in front of her, and imagines he can faintly hear the Boyz In Da Hood ringtone she employs. For a moment she doesn't move, and his palms begin to sweat profusely, not helping his traction on the glass. One dead Fred, going down. Then, miraculously, he sees her hand dart out and her shoulders stiffen as she reads.

_Turn around and let me in the stupid window!_

She spins, and her mouth is open in shock and what he categorizes as heart-in-the-throat fear in the fleeting moment before anger slams down over it. She thunders towards the window and he appreciates how far gone he is when he thinks, "At least before she pushes me over she'll know I tried."

He is yanked in through the unlatched glass unceremoniously and he is smiling, though she is in full Puckett freak strength mode as she flings him halfway across the room. His back hits the orange couch.

"I already know you're a _moron_ but are you _crazy_?" she rants at him, stalking closer, and he thinks that the ear splitting grin on his face probably isn't doing much to rebut her theory. He tries to stop, but he thinks he finally gets just how all this is going to play out, and he finds it's impossible. This doesn't help her in slightest. "You decide to go all Last Action Hero on me and climb around the fudging building because I don't want to talk to you? You almost kill yourself because I won't let you in to gloat? No means no, dork!"

She's pacing back and forth in front of him, her hair whipping him in the face on some of her turns.

"And _what_ are you _smiling _at, nub? Huh? You think this is all some big joke? I kiss you and pour my heart out to you and _ruin _everything and you think it's_ funny_?" She is in front of him, and her face is red and she is poking him none-too-gently in the sternum and he knows that she's about three seconds away from knocking his teeth out in fury and hurt and she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. "What gives you the right? Seriou-"

He's never been the one to start anything physical with her. She's the action; he's the re-action. Maybe that's why she's so compliant in his arms when he kisses her; the novelty is its own shock value. He's got her wrapped in his arms in a flash, her small body tucked against his and if his mouth weren't busy he'd start to sing. Her hands come up to cradle his face and she is so gentle, and so tentative that he wants to shake her and ask what she's done with his Sam, because she is now, he's decided, _his_ Sam and the thought thrills him so much that he bends her slightly backward in his enthusiasm. He licks at the inside of her mouth and he feels faint, and powerful, and he's never tasted anything half as delicious his whole life, and he just knows that his mother would disapprove and he doesn't give a fish in the least.

She pushes against him, and he wants to snort because he would never before this moment have thought that a Sam push could feel like a gentle fluttering against his collarbone.

The key to her good side is constant placation of her id; this is common knowledge. He hopes that he's the only one who ever figures out that the best placation appears to be interrupting her mid-word and kissing the fight out of her. He certainly intends to do his best in keeping that under wraps.

Still he leans back, enough to breathe at least, and looks into her eyes. They're wider than he's ever seen them, and a little bit wild, and out of control in a very new way. He keeps her close to him, with one arm slung around her waist, and his fingers tangled in the curls at the nape of her neck.

She is speechless, and he is _giddy_. He's found her kryptonite and all this time it's been in his lips! Wa-ha!

"Whoa."

"Ocho."

He feels the tension start to creep back into her body as she stares at him, and he knows he has to act fast. He starts out by smiling at her, and feels her relax a little under his fingertips.

She tilts her head at him, and blinks, and her cheeks are tinted and he's never seen her like this. He could break her to pieces right now, is the problem. He wouldn't, but he needs to make her understand that. He leans forward and rests his forehead against hers, gently.

"Hey."

"Smooth, nub," she tries, but the slight hitch in her breath gives her away.

"So… should I ask you to be my girlfriend? Or will that bring the return of the fist face dancing?"

She pulls away from him, or tries to, but he's not having that. He keeps his thumbs looped through her belt hooks, and lets his big hands span her small hips.

"What is this? Pity the Puckett day? Let me go."

He gives into his earlier urge now, when she won't meet his eyes, and shakes her a little, by the hip. "Don't, Sam. Don't run away from this."

She pushes at his biceps, but he's not budging. "What 'this?' There is no 'this!'"

Freddie shakes his head at her, and tightens his grip. "Get real, Sam." She glares at him, and he almost recoils at the venom he sees here.

"You get real, Benson! I'm not going to be some fill in for you, just because Carly won't give you the time of day! I'm nobody's stand in!" She manages to wrench herself away, and almost folds in on herself as she stumbles back. She dodges him when he reaches for her again, going over to where she's propped SodaBot against the door. He throws his hands up

"That's not what this is!"

"Please," Sam scoffs. "Just a few hours ago you were pushing me together with Brad! Or did you think that I was too stupid to see through your oh-so-clever one headed frog ruse?"

His blood pressure hits the roof. If one more person brings up her and Brad in the dark tonight he's going to lose it, and he won't be held responsible for his actions. He's not even sure that he's being rhetoric. "Firstly, since you're so smart, you should probably be able to guess who was the _mastermind_ behind that _brilliant_ plan. It sure as hell wasn't me! And I don't know why I even went along with it in the first place except Carly told me that it would make _YOU _happy. So shut it about that! I mean it!"

"Ah, no defense for using me as a placeholder, I see." She turns her back and starts trying to shove SodaBot out of the way, but is startled when she hears his roar just behind her.

"I'M GETTING TO IT."

She crosses her arms, and cocks her hip, warming to familiar ground.

"Watch your tone, Fredsack," she warns. But he can see through it right now, and he is prepared for it.

"No, I will not watch my tone! My tone is my tone and you don't control it."

"Mature."

"It's more mature than you running scared and trying to blame this on Carly."

She is abruptly nose to nose with him, and he thinks that even if this does go south, there's no turning back now, because three kisses seems to be the charm turning this girl's proximity from "danger! Danger will Robinson" to pure hormonal demand. She could kick his ass and his body would tell him it was foreplay.

"You don't know what the chiz you're talking about, Benson!" her voice is low, and scary, and Freddie wants to suck it out of her breath by breath. "I'm not scared and I'm not blaming Carly. I'm blaming you, and your demented psycho crush on her. Or do you not carry around her school portrait in your wallet anymore? All doodled with hearts and flowers and Mr. Carly Shays?" She moves to shoulder check him out of her way, and he stops her, pinning her back against the wall next to the door with one hand on her abdomen. With his other, he fumbles his wallet out and holds it up next to her nose.

"In this you'll find one state ID, one school ID, one emergency credit card, seven dollars in cash, and my Groovy Bucks smoothie card that YOU doodled all over. There are no hearts, or flowers, but there is a rather graphic drawing that frightens the cashier every time I hand it him. And when I tried to get a new one, you pouted so hard that I gave up because what's looking like a seriously twisted pervert in the face of _making you happy_?"

She stays where he put her, her mouth working as she tries to come up with a suitable retort. Her fingers close around his wrists loosely, but she can't seem to think of anything to say to that.

"Sam, I meant every word I said earlier. It's terrifying as all fudge to put yourself out there, especially when it's huge and life changing. This is going to be big, Puckett. Giant. There will be _ballads_ about this one day-"

"You'll be the nancy writing them," she interjects, almost compulsively, but he can feel her heart pick up speed against his palm.

"You told me this was a mistake before I even got a chance to screw up. Sam, I'm not… I don't feel for Carly that way anymore, and I think you know that. I hope you also know that I would never, ever hurt you on purpose."

She snorts, her face darkening. "Why wouldn't you? I've given you every reason, every opportunity…"

She is daring him to contradict her.

"Yeah. But I'm used to it. We're complicated. That's what we do; it's who we are. But it works." He pauses.

"Of all the people in the world, I'd hope you could trust me. We've always been honest with each other." He glares at her a little, but there's no heat behind it, not when he's close enough to watch her eyes change color with her every passing thought. "Or at least, I have."

She turns her face away, red in the cheeks. "Even still, Fredwad, even if I can accept that you're not into Carly, this still wouldn't work. We're too different. We'd wreck iCarly, and everything would get messed up."

"Bullshit."

She gawks at him in consternation. "Qua?"

"We wouldn't ruin anything. And if we did, I'm willing to risk it."

"Are you kidding me? You're willing to risk _iCarly_ for this?"

He makes sure she's looking at him straight on, and taking in how serious he is. "Some things in this life are going to be worth more to me than a webshow, even a really fantastic one with a meteorically expanding fanbase that seems to be growing with us and offering amazing advancement opportuni-"

"Freddie!" He snaps back to it, leaning in to ghost his lips across her cheekbone.

"Yes, Sam. I think you and I could be worth it." Her hands tighten around his wrists and he threads their fingers, bringing them up to the sides of her head. He watches her. Her smile is explosive and a sucker punch to his heart, because he's never seen her smile like that at anyone, and he thinks it might be just for him. He returns it.

"Holy crab. I think I'm dating a nub."

He takes her unspoken invitation and kisses her until he's lightheaded.

"Think?"

She wraps her arms around his neck, and leans back against the wall. She's so… small when she's all tucked up against him, and she has to stand on tiptoe to accomplish it.

"I'm sure, at the very least that I could be persuaded," she grins. "Momma accepts all bribes, so long as they're in the form of cash, pork, or favors."

Freddie smirks, and thinks that this girl is going to be the death of him, and he likes it. "Now, what sort of favors are we talking about here, exactly?" He scatters kisses across her upturned face, and digs his fingers into her ribs in what is undeniably a tickle.

"You perverted stump! A little lip to lip action and you think you're Don Juan!"

But she's snickering when she says it and pulling him closer, rather than pushing him away.

* * *

><p>Carly is exhausted. It has been one heck of a crazy night.<p>

Disregarding the emotional rollercoaster that was her two best chums in existence locking lips and most probably possibly embarking on a relationship adventure and setting aside all the effort it took her magical mediating skills to get it jump started, she put in several solid hours worth of research into what she suspects will someday be the doctoral thesis for which she will be known for worldwide, eclipsing her iCarly fame entirely. She also played guinea pig for the Brad/Freddie/Sam project, when neither of her two friends made it back to school to help complete it. She feels bad for poor Brad. It takes a strong and off-kilter kind of constitution to make it big at Ridgeway. Maybe they pushed him into the deep end too early? Something to ponder, fudge making skill aside.

Somewhere in between all that she also managed to take over the Shay family mantle of causing random and unpredictable fires! (_She's sure that the bio lab will recover, and really, even Fire Chief Pete agreed it was mostly smoke damage.)_ Who knew that goose down was that flammable, anyway?

She can't make it to the main elevator, not able to stomach even one flight of stairs, so she trundles past Lewbert to the back. He confirms her notion that she looks like a wreck by not even trying to scream at her for manifesting in his sacrosanct lobby, just sort of watching her go with a bemused and suspicious air, one finger pointed vaguely in her direction. She yawns, spectacularly and lets the rattle of the loft elevator soothe her. She is going to sleep _so hard_ when she gets to her room it's not even _funny_ and… Hey now.

Sam and Freddie are passed out on the couch, tangled limbs knotted together, her hair all sorts of over his face, snoring like two extremely contented baboons. She checks between her fingers, but they both look fully clothed, and she breathes a sigh of relief that she doesn't have to worry about the nightmares that would come from being scarred like that. SodaBot is laying sideways across the door, and the room is freezing cold because for some reason the dormer windows are open. Aww. One of the monkeys has frostbite on his plastic monkey butt. Shame!

What happened here? She isn't sure she wants to know. Well, that's not true. She's Carly Shay and she wants to know everything. She just isn't sure if she wants to know _now_ or if she wants to know later, over llamajun (Spencer was right- it is a delicious food product of some sort) and well rested from an eight hour nap.

Sam mumbles something in her sleep and Freddie's hand slides across her spine, snuggling her. Her heart melts a little, and she decides she's awake enough for this.

She pounces.

"Whoomp! Flying Carly!" she shouts, landing heavily against their mixed up legs. Both parties on the sofa startle violently- in Sam's case literally, as she flings herself to the side coming up from her roll in a defensive crouch, wielding a plastic GummyBuddy aloft, eyes darting from side to side.

Freddie's hands shoot out and he waves them at Sam in a settling motion, but Carly does nothing except laugh heartily. The situation catches up with Sam and she casually flings her makeshift weapon aside, and vaults the table to plop down next to Carly.

"Hey kid!" she cheers, giving her a shoulder bump.

Freddie breathes a sigh of relief and then immediately tenses because who knows how this conversation's going to go?

Not him.

"Soooo…" Carly intimates. She winks at them like she has a twitch, and wiggles her head from side to side like she's charming a snake. It's… not her best look, honestly.

"Spit it out, Carls."

"Are you two… _you know_?"

Sam turns to Freddie with an eyebrow raised. He gulps. Somehow his post liplock pep talk with Carly hadn't come up. He doesn't wonder why. He knows _why_. He had better things to do with his mouth than chit chat and he's not sorry.

He checks her face. He's not sorry… yet.

"Oh, um, Carly saw."

"Carly saw what?" Her eyebrow has not gone down and that worries him.

"Saw you two getting all… smoochy!" Sam turns to her.

"And you're… going to… yell… now?" She guesses. Carly is shocked- shocked! Her? Overreact? Heavens!

"What? No! This is great!" She panics. "This is… great, right? Ohmigod! Did you screw this up?" She tries to lunge at Freddie around Sam, claws up. "I told you not to screw this up!"

It's Sam who prevents her from going for the eyes, and they all pause a moment at how absurd that is. Freddie is delighted. Absurd but not terrible!

"Whoa there, Scratchy. Get your own punishment bag," but it's gentle, and there's confusion there. Freddie brings his hands to her shoulders, silent but encouraging.

"I'm guessing since he's… alive… things went well?" Carly beams, motioning to where he's touching her. Sam is uncomfortable with how comfortable she is with this.

"You mean you're not mad?"

"Mad? No. I mean, you're totally jank for not telling me that you were feeling the fuzzy tingles for Boy Wonder over there, but as long as you two are happy I'm happy. And please. I saw this coming. I TOTALLY did." Carly nods and pokes at Sam's tummy in what she considers an extremely hip fashion.

"And that's why you locked me in a room with-"

"DON'T SAY IT." Freddie is done. He is DONE.

"Whatever, I just miscalculated on the timing a little."

"Okay. Okay. So that means, that we're cool, and you and Freddie are cool, and me and Freddie are dating… and everything is… okay?"

They lean back against the worn cushions and Carly takes one of Sam's hands and Freddie takes the other one. "We are and we are and you are and it is."

The trio all breathe out identical sighs of relief.

"Well, what now?"

"I vote snoring, followed by drooling, followed by meat."

"Shoosh yeah!" "Caliente!"

Carly pats Sam's leg. "'You can sleepover,' Carly said belatedly and with a pointed look in your direction."

Sam rolls her eyes. "Yeah yeah."

Freddie waits by the door for Sam to join him and leans down to place a chaste and tender kiss on her forehead. "May I have the honor of buying your meat later?"

"Such a chivalrous nub!" But she nuzzles his neck a little, so it's ok.

He heads out and the girls start up stairs.

"I'm glad you're ok with this."

"I'm glad my best friends are actually dating people who deserve them." They thread their arms around each other's waists.

"You know, one thing, though…" Carly pulls Sam to a stop on the landing. Sam's face is quizzical. "What?"

Carly can't quite put it into words. "Nothing really… I just have this weird feeling like I'm forgetting something. Oh well. Onward! To sleep!"

* * *

><p>~Meanwhile~<p>

"Helloooo? Anyone? Please!"

The muffled thumping coming from the boarded up bio lab frightens the janitor. He's not usually a superstitious man… But everyone says that his Aunt Connie has the Eye, and she told him once that his work is chock full of spirits and he's here by himself.

"Just… My chowder! Electric chowder! Please… let me out! Gibby? Carly!"

Ralph decides that he hasn't taken a sick day in awhile. Now feels like a good time to fix that. Besides, he's not really going to be able to do much until the contractors get here to repair the "smoke damage." He drops his broom and manfully scurries away from the sounds.

"Is this still part of the experiment? HELP! HELP!"

Ralph breaks out into a run. What might possibly be the sound of quiet weeping follows him down the hall but soon there's no one left in the building to confirm that.

The lights shut off on their automatic timer, and all is still.

"So… many… bees!" Spencer sobs.

-FINIS-


End file.
